Luigi was very handsome.
He looked like the kind of guy
Who could weave amongst a flock of girls
And tell them how he was the choice of the room;
The crème de la crème,
A tall cool glass of water,
The big cheese.
But he wrapped a hood around his head like a bag
And shot a man he didn’t know in the back
Like he was judge, jury, and executioner.
When you shoot a man
Make sure you look him in the eye
Otherwise, how can you see his soul
Leaving his body and reckon
with what you have done?
Were we finding our voice
With a murder in the street?
Or were we lashing out
Like a toddler unsure of what he wants to hit?
I dunno about you
but I don’t care about all that.
A myth is a story that we create and believe
Even when our eyes tell us
That we aren’t seeing the truth.
Prison isn’t where you should be, Luigi
But you’re not God.
Let’s not all lose hope.
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